This cata-blog is all about me and my handsome self. But my sister Cosette is the star of a few.

Thursday, August 6, 2009

Cramping Our Style

About one week ago, mom came home with a human baby named Ari, short for Arielle. Being great with the ladies, I thought I'd introduce myself.

The problem was that the baby human was really afraid of me and Cosette and screamed. Now I would understand her screaming from fright at Cosette, but I'm so elegant, with my tuxedo and all, that I thought my snazzy outfit would mesmerize her.

Things haven't been the same in the household since this little cutie joined our family. Every night, the baby disrupts our 22nd hour of sleep by crying louder than any meow I've ever heard. Kinda makes me long for Cosette's hisses.

I will say this, though: I really try to be extra friendly to this child. I remember what it was like being adopted, and Cosette does too -- although she's older and probably remembers it less clearly. Yet the kid thwarts my sweet attempts to comfort her. I know that we will eventually be great friends, so I'm being patient, and I generally try to stay away from her knowing that for some inexplicable reason, I cannot console her.

Having sensitive hearing, I can tell you, her cries are really high-pitched. She's getting more used to us cats because her screams are now just whimpers. A few times, she reached out to touch us, but then she pulled back.

But today, there was a breakthrough: she reached out and touched my stubby tail and when I turned around, purring, she smiled and touched my face. Then it got a bit uncomfortable, as she pulled my whiskers. I tolerated it very well, and only wished she stroked my soft tuxedo coat instead of hurting me, albeit accidentally. She stuck her fingers at Cosette's face, which amused me. My tabby companion tolerated it, but I could tell she wasn't happy.

If only the baby would understand that petting us nicely would give her the sheer joy of touching luxurious fur. Cosette's fur, I must admit, is softer than mine -- like rabbit soft. But tuxedos trump soft fur every time.

One thing Cosette and I simply cannot adjust to right now is the thing called the "poopie diaper." Now is the time for mom to teach this kid how to use a litterbox. Instead, the little tyke is expected to do her business in a weird papery thing attached to her bottom. Mom doesn't even seem disgusted, as she coos over this baby during "changing the diaper" time.

Mom sure gets disgusted when she has to fish out the little treasures we leave for her in the litterbox.